"I always doubt," Kessligh replied, with as close as Sasha had ever heard him come to a gentle tone. "When you cease to doubt, you are lost. But the world is as it is, Sasha. One cannot find peace without accepting that. People die and people kill, and even if we are all flawed people, we cannot achieve anything good if we allow our enemies to defeat us. We must survive, Sasha. You must survive. Now, by your own choice, you must kill to survive. And you shall."
Sasha gazed at the mist upon the lake as she walked behind her honour guard, six men of the Falcon Guards who had volunteered for the duty. The eastern hills formed a dark, rugged line against the pale sky. High above, sunlight caught distant wisps of cloud and turned them brilliant yellow against the blue. The grass beneath her boots was damp, a not-quite frost that lay across the valley plain and gave the huddled white sheep something to drink with their morning feed.
Her honour guard were leading her toward the bridge where the tachadar circle had been formed upon the Halleryn side of the river. The town walls rose close and the gathering by the stream was well within arrowshot, yet all present were safe from Taneryn archers. No Goeren-yai archer would ever disrupt the solemnity of such proceedings. Along the walls, Sasha could see the dark shapes of many men gathered anywhere they could find a vantage. The Hadryn, it was plain, expected the Goeren-yai princess to die this morning. And they wanted the Taneryn to see it happen, first-hand and personal.
She followed her honour guard across the bridge and up the grassy bank toward the gathering ahead. The men of her honour guard were all in the full armour and colours of the Falcon Guard, save for their helms. Long, braided hair hung free on the shoulders of the three Goeren-yai, who marched with the slow, arrogant swagger of Goeren-yai manhood, a hand clasped to the hilt of each sword and threat in every step. The three Verenthane soldiers walked in a line behind their comrades, with no less intimidating a posture for all their lack of swagger. Three of each, Goeren-yai and Verenthane together. It was a clear and defiant symbol. No doubt the Hadryn, and the Taneryn onlookers from the walls, would notice.
Behind, at a suitable distance, followed Damon, Kessligh, Jaryd, Lieutenant Reynan and the six Royal Guardsmen. Captain Tyrun had remained behind with his troops, as at least one senior officer was required to do. It was unclear why Lieutenant Reynan had come, except that his family connection to Lord Jaryd gave him some influence. Alone of the Tyree men, he seemed vastly displeased by proceedings and wore a scowl beneath his helm. Perhaps he hoped she would lose.
Ahead, a party of Hadryn nobles had gathered about the far, northern side of the tachadar circle, some house guards and regular troops amongst them. Perhaps twenty men, Sasha counted as they approached. On the far bank, a great many soldiers were now gathering, their officers attempting to form them into orderly lines, so as not to present disarray in view of the walls of Halleryn. As Sasha's party strode closer, there came some yells from the walls to the right. Encouragement, Sasha realised, although she did not pay attention to the words. The uma of Kessligh was going to fight the Hadryn in honourable combat. Whatever trouble Lord Krayliss had with Kessligh's uma, it evidently did not extend to all the soldiers of Taneryn.
Answering yells came back from the troops across the river and suddenly the still, sombre morning erupted into raucous cheering, one side against the other. Sasha let it wash over her, her breathing calm as Kessligh's training had taught, her pulse level and controlled. Her eyes remained fixed on the gathering ahead and the man in shiny, polished brown leathers beneath a flowing black cloak, standing upon the edge of the circle with his blade unsheathed, point-down on the turf.
The honour guard reached the circle's edge and parted. Sasha took her place, the toes of her boots on the small stones that defined the rim, and the yelling grew even louder. A horn blew from the wall to her right and then there came the thundering roll of a hide drum as many hundreds of Goerenyai men tried to equal the racket of thrice that number from across the river. From across the circle, Master Farys Varan was staring at her, eyes blazing with all the fire such a reception would breed within the heart of any Lenay warrior. Sasha felt a tingling down her spine and then elsewhere as the sensation spread. Little sleep though she'd had, she could not remember ever having felt more awake. Colours, sounds and smells assaulted her senses. She took a deep breath of the chill morning air and surveyed the circle.
It was wide, perhaps eight armspans in diameter, with room enough about the perimeter for at least thirty men to stand shoulder to shoulder. The silver-haired man of the previous evening was now removing Farys's cloak from his shoulders and folding it ceremoniously. One of Sasha's honour guard did likewise for her and her limbs welcomed the chill air. Another man, a Verenthane, presented her sword in its scabbard-a Goeren-yai tradition, performed by this Verenthane soldier at his own insistence. He had been present when she had slain those four at Perys, Sasha knew. She drew the blade clear, leaving the soldier with the scabbard, and stepped into the circle.
The yells, horns and drumbeats faded, then ceased completely. Once again, silence ruled the valley. That abrupt transition gave Sasha a worse chill than the last, and her breathing threatened to quicken as her heart skipped a beat. Focus, she reprimanded herself, testing the feel of the blade in one, thin-gloved hand. Do not think. Be.
Behind and in front, men of both parties moved about the circle, finding space for a clear vantage. One of them, in flowing black robes, stepped into the circle and walked to the centre. A priest, Sasha registered. Of course the armies of Hadryn would bring their holy men with them. Reaching the centre, he produced a small book and began reading. Across the northern side of the circle, men bowed their heads in prayer. Some of the southern side did also.
The priest completed his incantation and holy signs were made upon heart and lips. The silver-haired man who had taken Farys's cloak met her gaze by chance and smiled a smug, contemptuous little smile. These were the men who killed Krystoff. The hatred flared, a rising sea of molten fire. Focus, she forced herself with effort. Anger can work for you. Don't drown in it.
The priest walked to Farys, who sank to one knee, the sword held pointdown before him. The priest blessed him with obvious reverence. Then turned in a swirl of black robes and considered Sasha darkly as Farys rose at his back. Dark smiles spread across the gathering behind to see the priest's manner. Then he walked toward her. But Sasha did not kneel.
"Child, do not be foolish!" the priest whispered in harsh temper as an angry murmur spread across the circle's northern side. "You must make your peace with the gods, for your father's sake!"
Sasha met his stare with an intensity that made the priest's eyes widen. And he blessed himself in recoiling reflex. "Why?" she asked him. "I won't be the one meeting them today."
The priest blessed her hurriedly as she remained standing, then departed in haste. The silver-haired man then stepped into the circle as angry ripples continued amongst the Hadryn. "Let the record state," he cried to all those watching, "that Master Farys Varan, son of Lord Udys Varan, has been challenged to this duel by the uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt! Let it also state that this challenge was only accepted following the most grievous provocation and insult to Master Farys's honour! The uma of Kessligh Cronenverdt presumes to wield the authority of a man! If a man she thinks herself to be, then let her be treated as one!"
The silver-haired man glared proudly across all gathered. Then, with a spiteful, final stare at Sasha, he turned and departed. Farys advanced, proud in his stride, broad shoulders set. Imparting upon the occasion all the honour and dignity he could muster for the ritual slaying of an impetuous girl. But he would do this all the same, for the purposes of his masters, who had surely put him up to it. Kill the Goeren-yai princess. Discredit the hated Kessligh Cronenverdt. Show the pagan fools the sum total of all their hopes and prophecies. And show to all Lenayin that the tales of serrin martial prowess were nothing more than superstitious fables, to pave the way for the holy war to come.